Deafening Silence
by ThickerThanLove
Summary: Bilbo has returned to the Shire after spending the winter in Erebor. He saw his friends recover and Thorin take the throne. He did what he set out to do. So why does Bag End feel so empty? Continuing out of popular demand! No longer a one shot!
1. Chapter 1

Bag End looked the same but it was not the same.

Or rather, Bilbo thought gloomily as he sat amid his armchair, HE was not the same. For good or ill, Gandalf had been right. He had returned from his journey, whole and well but not the same Hobbit as he had been when he left, not by a long shot. He had seen things, done things, experienced things and while he was glad of it, he was not the same.

He doubted that he would have wanted to be the same.

Thorin now ruled in Erebor, his two sister-sons strong by his side. The mountain thrived and beamed with life. When the first signs of spring had allowed him to return to the Shire, he had seen his first dwarven children arriving with the first of the travelers from the Blue Mountains and his heart had swelled and warmed. They had greeted him as if he were one of them, smiling, laughing, asking all sorts of questions. His departure had been delayed for several hours to tend to their curiosities. Then the Company has insisted on giving him parting gifts, introducing him to Roc so that messages by raven could be completed with little trouble and then Kíli and Fili had nearly broken his ribs with their embraces once more until Gandalf finally forced them on their way.

It had been a harsh contrast to his return home! Imagine, having to stop his belongings from being sold off and nearly having to pry his spoons from that wretched Lobelia's greedy mitts. Honestly! Did she just sit around, waiting for an excuse to challenge his inheritance?

Yes, he decided rather quickly, she must.

But difficulties aside, he was back.

Home, yes, home he was again, amid his armchairs, his books, his plants. He had truly missed the feel of a warm fire without the chill of the wind and the sound of chirping birds amid the morning. He had missed the taste of morning tea, sweetened with just a hint of honey. He had missed the feel of his robe, wrapping him tightly amid its warmth.

He slumped deeper in the chair, sipping his evening tea slowly. This had seemed a far away dream on the road to Erebor, something too petty to desire much. Now that he had it back, he wondered why he had made such a fuss.

Bag End was quiet, the perfect atmosphere for writing or reading.

He felt no desire to do either.

His red covered book sat unused on his writing desk even though enough material for thirty novels rattled Bilbo's mind.

The silence was getting under his skin. He pushed back his chair, loudly and much harder than needed, just to hear the slight scuff on the floor.

Oh, his nights had not been silent in some time. He would spend the time before retiring listening to stories of lore from the dwarves, or laughing at Fili and Kili's antics or perhaps joining in a song with the rest of the Company as they got out their instruments and made merry. There was no shortage of tales worthy of rhyme among them and Bilbo had taken great pleasure in helping them conclude their Misty Mountain song with a chorus of their great victory!

Occasionally, on nights that were truly full of joy or when Fili and Kili had applied extra pressure, the King himself would take his hands upon a harp and play, his deep baritone seeming to vibrate within the entire mountain, deep to its core. Everyone went quiet, even the rambunctious Princes, and listened. The voice of the King was the voice of the Mountain and one that given the utmost respect.

Bilbo laid back, looked up at the ceiling.

There was no music here. There would be parties amid the square within a few days but the kind of parties he normally avoided still held no interest. After all, a party was only as good as the people you could mingle with. He would spend more time trying to avoid people than trying to converse. The presents would be given with little thought and the food of even the best Hobbit chef was not Bombur's cooking. The stories toke about the party tree were not Balin's lore filled tales. The laughter of the children was not Fili or Kili's.

They were not Dwarven parties.

Huffing with indignation, Bilbo rose and trotted down to his bedroom. His feet left a creak and sway to the wood that rebounded as a beaten drum. The utter emptiness of the halls was suffocating. He was not picking around dwarves, picking up clothes that Fili had dropped or calling to Ori to "please go to bed, the journals will be ready for their scribe upon the morn, I assure you."

Memories. So many of them and they had not ceased since Erebir slipped behind his back.

Bilbo shook his head violently.

Surely, a night sleep in his own bed would do wonders. It had been something he had missed most desperately upon the road. A soft mattress and warm sheets would be most excellent after the harshness of a bed roll on rocky ground!

Collapsing amid the familiar sheets did little to calm his nerves nor ease the emptiness that settled in his heart and his stomach. Granted, it was just as soft as he remembered and he did not lack for warmth but it was not clothed with Dori's lovely quilts.

He rolled over and listened.

Silence.

No mutterings down the halls, no slight clanging of a late night watchman trying to be quiet and failing miserably. No light snores coming from the nearby rooms. No half whispered 'just one croissant, Fili, no more, I promise!' just outside his door.

It took another moment before the real impact to hit Bilbo and it careened through his heart as a rapid fire.

He was lonely.

He was back, back at the Shire, back at Bag End but it was no longer home.

Home was where your family was and he had none here. His relations, as that was all he could call them, had thought little of him before and even less so now. Had he not returned, the ownership of his belongings would have the concern of their hearts, not his well being.

How many times had the dwarves inquired as to his happiness? How often did Bofur insist on joining him in song with Bofur providing the dance to accompany it? Or Nori insisting that boar rides were scarcely something to fear (he'd been mistaken) and Glóin taking bets on time as Oin prepared bandages?

How many times had they gathered about the fire and listened? Sang, laughed and finally stumbled off to their rooms with Thorin half carrying around least one stubborn nephew.

Midway through the winter, Bilbo had begun to receive the gentle forehead touches from them. Warm, deliberate and meaningfully He'd been stunned at first then honored and finally a burst with happiness.

Here, his forehead felt cold.

Burying his face amid the sheets, Bilbo wept his homesickness to the quiet of his homely smial. He could not go more than ten minutes in Erebor with tears before someone was hounding him, wrapping their arms around him or demanding he join them or "who did it-I'll bury my ax so deep in his skull, Mahal himself will hafta remove it!"

No one came here.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mr. Baggins!"

Bilbo paused, hand on the door. He stood there, motionless, a long moment. Foolish it was, he knew, but he could not help but hope that instead of Hamfast, it was a younger sounding voice calling him and purposely replacing an a with an o. Oh, he had been so irritated at first but that simple phrase "Mister Boggins" had become so dear to his heart. Would he ever hear it again?

Turning at the call though, he set a smile upon his face. "Ah! Hamfast, my good fellow! A good morning to you."

"Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?"

Foolish thing to be reminiscing on perhaps but Bilbo could not stop his thoughts from going to that morning...when his entire life had been turned around and a company of dwarves had arrived on his doorstep.

He wondered if they were greeting one another in Erebor this day or perhaps if Thorin had finally managed to make time for that hunting trip he promised his nephews or...

"Indeed!" Hamfast broke into Bilbo's longing rather abruptly or perhaps it was just how deeply seeped in memory that Mr. Baggins (or Boggins as he longed to hear) had fallen. The Gardner gave a nod. "And to you, Mr. Baggins. We've not seen much of you lately since your return though I'm sure you've much to repair on account of Lobelia." He dropped his voice, seemed nearly ashamed. "Bell and I tried to keep her out as best we could, honest we did!"

Bilbo approached the small fence, rested his forearms upon it. "Oh, I have no doubt of that, Ham. Lobelia is a furious creature on her best days and when she sees a chance to claim Bag End for herself, it is hardly the best of days." He shook his head. "I am still sorting through the damage everyone generated, trying to grab at my belongings! I will try and be a bit more sociable."

Hamfast inquired, "Might you join us for tea, later this afternoon?"

Bilbo paused, considered the proposition. On the one hand, it would be nice to engage in conversation, however menial it might be but his heart simply was not in it. He hated to disappoint the Gamgees, given they were some of the few that did not regard him complete contempt but it would hardly be fair for them to go through such trouble if he was truly not interested either.

"Thank you for the offer, Hamfast but I fear I still have so much to repair and clean up. Another time, perhaps."

"'Course, Mr. Baggins but remember our door is always open."

Bilbo gave a smile to that but it did not quite reach his eyes. "I shall bear that in mind, my friend. Do give my regards to Bell."

Without giving Hamfast time to respond, Bilbo slipped through his door and shut it cleanly behind him, the click of the latch far more of a comfort than it should have been. Far more than it used to.

Always a bit eccentric he was but since his return, how different he was had become so much more apparent. The way the others regarded him with eyes akin to fear and disgust. Not less than a year ago, he would have fretted about what he had done to cause such assumption but now, he felt no care to their thoughts.

Kind though they were by nature, his neighbors no longer understood. A flower was pretty to them but they did not know the utter beauty to be found in metal twisted and formed in fire by patient hands or the wondrous craft to be found in simple wooden toys, painstakingly etched and carved, inch by inch. They did not know the joy of being able to give people who had come at your call on a suicide mission everything they deserved and more.

Hobbits knew pain, discomfort but they did not know struggle.

Sighing, Bilbo took his walk through the empty smial. He'd not been fibbing when he said there was still work to be done. He'd yet to check all the rooms and was loathe to think what other damage had been done. The main foyer and kitchen had been frightening enough. Yet, as he entered the bedrooms, his heart sank.

He should have expected Lobelia to go for his mother's jewelry. It didn't look like she had taken much of it, thank goodness but Bilbo found his heart heavy nonetheless for what she HAD taken.

And the careless way in which she had done it!

His mother's old hand mirror was lying on the ground, the glass rightly cracked down the center. It had always been her favorite piece, as a small butterfly made of small gems had been made into the back. As Bilbo turned it over in his hands, he saw the silver cracked, multiple gems missing and it looked like the handle needed repair.

Lobelia had always loved the butterfly but not the mirror. If Bilbo had a means to angrier, he would have been. As it was, he tucked the piece into his shirt, swept up the debris and continued on his way. No point in lingering on it. A broken memento was better than no memento.

The guest room was in a much better state than the rest of the smial though it made his heart ache. Oh to have someone in these halls again! Not even a year ago, he'd shown Thorin and his nephews to this room. The two boys had bounded onto the bed like a couple of lambs and Thorin had shook his head at their antics.

Yet, when they'd left the room in the morn, the bed was made, blankets folded and all in all, it had been in near perfect order. Bilbo had learned over the course of the journey that for all their childish playing, both boys had been raised with manners and respect and they conveyed it well.

Sitting down on the mattress, Bilbo sighed heavily. What was he even doing here? The Shire, once a place that made him utterly content, left him empty and alone. Aside from Hamfast and his wife, there was no one here that would relish in his company or conversation and even the Gamgees did not always have the same enthusiasm as they liked to present, though not for lack of trying.

There was never any pretending with Dwarves, something Bilbo had come to appreciate about them. It had been quite the cultural shock at first but once he grew accustomed to it, he found he rather liked the prospect of not having to guess at one's intentions. Truly, it alleviated a great deal of work!

What to do...Bilbo did not deny that he felt an overwhelming desire to jump back on a pony and leave but what would come of that? It was a long journey—a good two months of one did not encounter obstacles—and he was already the talk of the Shire. Old Mad Baggins they were calling him.

Well, given the state he had returned to, he found he had every right to be angry! And a bit reclusive! The Hobbits of the Shire had not exactly been accepting of his adventure, far less so than he had even hoped.

Shaking his head, Bilbo moved to a stand. Sitting here, reminiscing woukd do no good and—

"Ow!" A sharp pain cut through his left foot which given he was a Hobbit was truly saying something.

No, not necessary a pain per say now that he took the time to analyze it. More of an odd pressure into the sole. Blinking amid the sunlight through the window, Bilbo knelt and his fingers curled about a simple bead, long and intricately decorated. There was a long slice where the bead had snapped open and fallen from its bearer. He recognized dwarven runes after a moment and his face softened.

"Oh, Fili, my boy, it was here the whole time?"

He remembered, all too well, the ruckus in the camp that first night when Fili had noticed the bead's absence. He'd all but torn their supplies apart before rushing back, looking over their footsteps until Thorin had all but tackled him and demanded he calm.

After they reached Erebor, Fili had remained melancholy about it; with all the treasures now at their disposal, he had looked at the absence of that one bead with such depression that it made Bilbo heart sick to remember it. Even when he'd been crowned, there was a weariness right him over its loss.

Curiosity had finally gotten the better of him and he'd approached Balin, requesting he wished to help in any manner he could. The old dwarf's eyes had been warm as he replied.

"_Oh, there's nothing to be done Bilbo. Thorin will be seeking out anything that might be used for a replacement but with the damage from the dragon, it is not likely."_

_"But what makes that bead so special?" Bilbo had inquired. "Are all Dwarven beads such?"_

_"No, laddie. That bead was passed to Fili through Dis and Thorin from his Uncle Frerin, Thorin's younger brother who we lost at the battle of Azanulbizar." Balin had shook his head. "Fili and Kili never met their Uncle Frerin. The bead is their connection so that when their times comes to pass to Mahal's Halls, their Uncle shall know them. Without it, Fili has lost his connection to his Uncle."_

Yet here it was. It had been here, in Bag End, this whole time. Fili need not feel cut off from his relations any longer. All that was left to do was to return the bead to its owner.

An odd elation filled Bilbo and he rushed back to his own bedroom and began throwing supplies into a knapsack. Clothing, bandages, a sack of gold from that treasure chest...

Food supplies. Yes, that would be next and could easily be obtained on his way to purchase an old pony from down the way. He would need to stop by the Thain to ensure Lobelia didn't try to get her ugly mitts on his property again...

It was so much to do but Bilbo found he didn't care. Even as he tossed that Mithril shirt on and pulled a tunic over it as he grabbed Sting, all he could think of was the collection of dwarves that would waiting at the end.

Tucking Fili's bead securely into his shirt pocket, the hobbit grabbed his walking stick as he went out the door, knapsack already swung over his shoulder. Spying Bell out in the garden, he called to her. "Oh, Bell! My dear!"

She turned, gave a smile "Oh, Bilbo...oh. Are you heading off?"

"Indeed. Indeed I am. Would you mind terribly watching Bag End for me? Help yourselves to anything I've stocked in the pantry. I'll speak with the Thain to hopefully keep Lobelia away. But I have a vital delivery to make!"

Bell blinked. "Well, of course. But...wouldn't requesting a delivery parcel be less trouble for you?"

Bilbo shook his head firmly. "No, that simply is not an option. I hardly trust them to deliver fruits without bruising them, let alone to understand the importance of this. No, I must hand deliver it myself."

Bell nodded but did not press. "As you say, Bilbo. How long will you be gone?"

"Hard to say for certain, my dear Bell but several months to be sure. I will send notice to you and Hamfast when I know more. I'm taking precautions to keep those nasty Sackville-Baggins away from my smial, rest assured!"

"Well, best of luck to you then!" She smiled and offered, "Take care and mind your safety, dear Bilbo."

"As much as I can, Bell, I assure you." Then with a clink of his walking stick, Bilbo was all but skipping down the lane to get the last of his provisions and set his affairs in order.

The mountain. He was going back to the mountain. Back to Fili and Kili's antics and Thorin's songs and Balin's stories. Back to Dwalin's teases and gruff smiles. Back to Bofur's dances and Dori's fireside knitting and Nori's not-quite-stealing dares. Back to sitting next to young Ori as they pieced history back together, book by book. Back to Glóin and Oin's tales of little Gimli! Back to Bombur's wondrous food and Bifur's beautiful craftsmanship.

Back to nights full of laughter and days filled to the brim with task, tale and song.

"Home." He finally said aloud to himself. "I'm going home!"


End file.
